


Touch from Afar

by darby_vo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bunsen Burner Babes, Eventual Smut, Everyone drinks tea with whiskey in it., F/F, Flashback Framing Device: The Lazy Writers BFFL, I will work every damn quote from the game into this if it kills me., Men? What men., Moicy, Past Relationship(s), Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-02-07 15:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12844335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darby_vo/pseuds/darby_vo
Summary: For all of her time resurrecting those from the brink of death, there is one that Angela wished stayed in the grave.





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi-chapter work that's still being written because my hands can't stop slipping into gay-shit. Each chapter will be updated as they are finished being written. As always, your comments are encouraged. Enjoy!
> 
> *Tags include Pharmercy. This is mentioned frequently, but isn't the main focus. Most of this story takes place in the past prior to this ship.

Dr. Angela Ziegler wasn't so much holding her cup of tea as much as she was choking it. These round-table meetings were tedious and long and required an inhumane amount of vigor to follow. As the primary medic, vigor was her specialty. Yet it was on short supply after today’s events. She wasn’t only agent that understood the gravity of the situation; she was just the one that had the most to lose. Bringing the cup to her lips, she took a long swig and followed the conversation at the table.

_It had been a lifetime since she had seen her._

 “We cannot pretend that this is not our fault,” Ana stated, both of her hands pressed against the table as she hovered over the open files in question. Her eye inspected the black and white candid shot of the target in question. She shook her head and looked between every one, “We left ourselves open for this by not keeping tabs on her. We publicly disassociated from her and discredited her work and yet we did not think to prepare for this kind of retaliation. This could have been stopped.”

_Over a decade._

“Don’t start that shit,” Jack began, rising from his seat to grab the file from Ana. Mercy watched as his scarred features turned into a grimace as the severity of Ana’s words hit him. Ever since Ana’s return, he had lost He flicked through the pages, pausing at the photo then tossed the file back into the center before continuing, “Sources placed her in Oasis. Head of their genetics department. Minister. She had no motive to defect.”

_She was doing well._

“You mean besides being scary, right?” Lena chimed in, settling into the back of her seat. She pushed her goggles up onto her head and crossed her arms. It wasn’t unlike the young woman to process these types of the situations with humor. “Call me crazy, but there’s a theme with that lot. Purple. Shadows. Big egos. Penchants for world domination. Almost feels like it was a matter of time, yeah?”

_A matter of time._

“This is serious,” Ana responded, eyeing Lena with a maternal look that could unsettle a titan. “The matter at hand is that this is another one of our own that has defected to work for Talon. We need to focus our energy on identifying what other relationships Talon has with the disbanded Blackwatch team. We know that Reyes-“

“-Reaper,” Jack corrected her with palpable contempt.

“… _Reaper_ operated Blackwatch out of our jurisdiction when Overwatch was instated. We must find out if there were any others that were kept secret on its payroll or utilized its resources. We cannot allow them to continue to recruit those who have been a part of our ranks. It is too much of a risk. We start with her. Moira O’Deorain must be stopped.”

_Moira._

Angela could feel a set of slender fingers in her ribcage, their long, sharp nails clawing at its interior. Eight years didn’t seem to be long enough for her heart to keep its standard rhythm at the mention of her name. Eight years wasn’t long enough of a time for her grip to loosen its hold on her. Yet the thought of the Irish woman’s soft brogue and sharp cheekbones made eight years seem _too long_. No _._ They had ended things. Just like Overwatch, they had ended things with a bang. An explosion. Wounds. Scars. Trauma. She could feel her breath leave her and her chest seize. No healing solve Angela developed could counteract the infection that was Dr. Moira O’Deorain. Her symptoms still lingered. Her madness still reigned. Her-

“-Angela?”

Dr. Ziegler opened her eyes, unaware that she had disappeared. The meeting room had emptied, lest the silhouette of a woman making her way over. It spoke softly, a welcome and familiar tone of voice to bring Angela back into the land of the living.

“Fareeha. I’m sorry, I…” Angela brought her hands to her face as she spoke, her unruly bangs falling back in to shield her face.

“No. Hey, none of that. There’s no reason for that,” as Fareeha spoke, Angela could feel a cautious hand pushing her bangs back behind her ears. She glanced through her fingers to find a set of almond eyes comforting her with a soft smile. “It’s all right. You’re all right.” A hand touched her own, coaxing it away from Angela’s face. Angela smiled as she felt her fingers being laced with Fareeha’s own. “ _We’re_ all right.”

Angela smiled, taking their hands and laying a soft kiss on the back of Fareeha’s. She wasn’t alone in this. She knew Fareeha would do everything in her power to remind her of that. “Why of course we are. I just…got away from myself for a moment. It’s been a while since all of this has come up and I don’t want this to affect my work.” She paused, bringing Fareeha’s hand back up to her lips again for another kiss. “Our work, of course. Us.”

“I’d like to see her try,” Fareeha grinned, standing to her full height beside the woman in an attempt to appear menacing. Her tan, muscular frame pushed the limits of her tank-top as she retrieved her hand and placed them both of her hips, “I’ve got you on my radar.”

Angela chuckled and collected her things from the table. “ _Mein gott_ , that ego. Shall we go to the lab and see if we can perform a reduction procedure?” She rose and headed out the doorway of the meeting room, files and tea in hand. Fareeha’s footsteps followed after her as she made her way back to the lab at headquarters.

At the sealed entrance of the lab, the women parted ways, exchanging flirtations and soft words of encouragement. Angela watched as Fareeha made her way down the hall, committing the image of her silhouette in tight clothing to memory, before she pressed her hand against the biometric scanner to enter.

With a whir, the double doors split open for entry and Angela stepped inside. Lights flickered on from their slumber at the sound of her heels against the tile floors. It echoed amongst the vials and machines and caused a stir in one of the cages by the back office. Dropping her files and tea at her desk, she made her way over to the noise. The smile that Fareeha had so graciously leant her faded as her eyes fell onto an old, frail brown rabbit.

“She’s back, Banshee…” Angela whispered, opening the cage door and picking up the small creature. She cradled it in her arms, inspecting its features with a concerned eye. She made her way back over to the desk and set the rabbit down. It settled onto the files that splayed across the desktop, staring up at Angela without comprehension. She took a seat at the desk and continued, “I thought you should know. I’m still unsure of what to make of it just yet. Any ideas?” Angela half expected a response. Banshee was hitting her second decade – a medical miracle by any science standard considering rabbits survived three years at most in the wild. After the testing that Dr. O’Deorain had put it through, it wasn’t beyond reason to assume it could become sentient.

A moment or so passed before Angela let out a weak smile, eyeing the docile animal, “Me neither, I’m afraid. Let us figure it out together, though.”

Reaching into a nearby drawer, she retrieved what seemed to be an aged gold flask. She unscrewed the top and dropped a few paces into her tea. Courage, she reasoned. _Irish_ courage to deal with the storm that was to come. Lena was right when she said it was only a matter of time. She was back in the lab where it had all began. Memories of that nature never slept soundly. They wage war. Maybe there was an answer amongst all the memories. Maybe she could learn to defend herself and take care of the others. Maybe this wasn’t meant to be over just yet. But there was one fact she knew to be true.

Moira never went down without a fight.


	2. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entrance.

“Agent Reyes, please. These are two completely different fields of study,” Angela was out of breath. It had been the better part of an hour that she had been following Gabriel, pleading for a change of heart. She knew him well enough to know he was doing laps on purpose at this point. It was a scene, she was sure, to watch her jog after the intimidating head of Overwatch’s black ops division with such desperation. She pressed on, broadening her steps to keep pace and pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “The fundamentals are entirely different. We are here to help people. We are not here to rewrite biological code. And the equipment and the testing facilities and staff and funding and…I mean just because they are both sciences doesn’t-“

“Exactly,” the man stated, the hint of a smile on his voice, “They’re both sciences.” Reyes was as broad as he was intimidating, clad in tactical armor from his latest mission.

“That is not-“

“I’m glad you’re finally coming around to this. It’s a relief. I’d hate for this to be an issue,” he continued, sparing no glance at Angela as he rounded the corner to the lab. He brought a hand up to his chin, running his fingers quickly through his facial hair in an attempt to mask his grin. It had taken years for him to realize that there was no asking permission from Dr. Angela Ziegler, only asking forgiveness. They paused outside of the double doors for the lab. Turning to face her, Gabriel’s scarred features mustered an amount of compassion she had rarely witnessed. “Angela, listen. I understand that this is outside of your comfort zone. I need you to recognize that this is a step we need to take. We need to be on the cutting edge here or else we can’t keep up. Think of this as a favor. For me, Doc. This kind of research does a lot more good in Blackwatch’s hands than the enemies. I promise.”

Angela could feel her chest tighten. She knew she was bested. Her eyes ran over his features, searching for an ounce of deception but found none. It was no secret that Gabriel Reyes was a man of questionable judgement; he had the marks on his body to prove it. But more importantly, Reyes was a man of his word. “Fine,” she conceded with a sigh, before pressing a finger into the stone-like chest of the man, “But you have my word, Gabriel. If there’s a hint of this gong off the rails, I will end it. We are meant to help people here.”

“Agreed. Now,” he grinned, turning towards the double doors and placing his hand on the biometric security lock. “You’ll find that Dr. O’Deorain has settled herself in the lab already. I would have arranged to have you introduced personally, but you seemed to be busy being led around the compound all morning by one of our top agents.”

She punched him and grumbled, “ _Sohn einer Hündin._ ”

He chuckled. The doors parted before them. He gazed into the lab, avoiding Angela’s glare while adjusting his stance. “I’ll have to leave you now, Dr. Ziegler. As always, your understanding is _greatly appreciated_. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you. And as for you…” Reyes stepped over the threshold of the doorway, raising his voice to some out of site specter, “Behave yourself, O’Deorain.”

There was groan just out of earshot, creeping from the back of the lab.

Angela smiled. “Certainly, Agent Reyes.”

With a nod, Gabriel turned on his heel and headed back down the corridor. The clack of the guns on his hips disappeared as she stepped inside and the doors closed behind her.

There were boxes lining the walls, scarred with manic scribbles and labels. She could hear the distinct sound of metal sliding against metal as she pushed passed the boxes and further into the lab. It smelled of lit matches with a little whiskey. She could feel her heart begin to race. The lab felt unfamiliar and Angela wasn’t sure how to take it. She crossed her arms and tried to muster the best welcome smile she could find inside. If they were going to be sharing a space for the time being, it wouldn’t do any good for her and Moira _not_ to get along.

“Hello?” she stepped over another wave of boxes, pushing her nerves into back into her stomach and approaching the back of the lab. Her eyes fell on the frame of a slender woman with short red hair, hunched over a set of metal cages. Angela watched, biting her lip as the other wrapped her arms one and lifted it from the ground, standing a fool head taller than herself. _Tall women._ She shifted her feet, trying to ignore the sensation that crept into her chest at sight of her silhouette. It was unprofessional. _She_ was being unprofessional.

“Hello!” She repeated, lacing her words with an air of optimism that convinced even herself, “My name is Dr. Angela Ziegler. Or call sign ‘Mercy’ to some. It’s a little silly actually but...” Angela could feel her accented voice growing in pace and pitch. She was nervous. Optimistic and nervous – even if the other hadn’t just yet acknowledged her. She watched as the doctor pushed the cage on the table, her arms flexing against the fitted black button down. The blond pushed her bangs from her eyes, taking another step towards the doctor and offering her hand, “You must be Dr. O’Deorain. I heard you’re-“

“Do you always let him talk to you like that?”

Angela froze. A voice had come from the silhouette – a deep, symphony steeped in Gaelic culture and confidence. Her hand suspended in midair between them. Her language processer took a moment too long to muster out the words, “Pardon me?”

Moira turned to face her, her eyebrow raised and her gaze catching the blonde’s outstretched hand but not taking it, “Do you _always_ let him talk to you like that? It was rather dismissive.”

Whatever nerves that Dr. Angela Ziegler had had been abandoned at the sight of the woman that stood before her. She was equal parts human as she was entirely something else. A creature of beguilement. The corner of her lips raised in tandem with Angela’s heart rate as the smile turned her into a sly creation. The collar of her button down was open and loose, her green tie and two buttons undone to generously flash her collar bones. Fire red strands of short hair fell into her eyes, blocked by a set of thick rimmed black glasses. She pushed them up into her hair, revealing a set of heterochromic set of eyes: one was as red as the depths of hell and one as blue as the ocean.

Angela’s pulse was a runaway train. Her hand had plummeted to her side just as her heart had plummeted right into her stomach. This woman. This _siren of science_ would eat her alive.

“I…” Ziegler began, then stopped. She was unaware her voice sounded so small. She cleared her throat and tried again, “No. I don’t think – I assure you that Agent Reyes and I have nothing but mutual respect for each other.”

“Do you trust him?” Moira didn’t move, looming over Angela like an unamused statue. Angela could feel her eyes inspecting every part of her. Dissecting her into smaller pieces. Viewing her through a microscope and logging every part.

“Yes. Of course I do,” Ziegler replied, unaware of what made her speak with such a definitive tone in the presence of such a woman. She did trust Reyes. Implicitly.

“I see,” the O’Deorain responded, the left side of her mouth lifting into a smirk. She shifted her feet, bringing manicured fingers to the collar of her shirt. They straightened it and fastened the top two buttons before starting to adjust her tie. “He’s trouble, in my personal opinion. I was told I’d have at least another hour to set up before you’d arrive. It seems I have to apologize for the state of things.”

Angela could feel color in her cheeks. The brogue that touched each syllable complimented the soft scent of whiskey. She smiled encouragingly, allowing her eyes to roam from the woman to her belongings on the table behind her. Files, the cage, a pack of cigarettes, and a small rocks glass filled with tan liquor. “Are you sure _you_ aren’t trouble, Dr. O’Deorain?”

Moira paused. A smile spread across her face. There was a pink hue in her cheeks that left Angela wondering if it was her words or the whiskey that put it there. “I’m surprised you haven’t read my file, Dr. Ziegler. There’s still a longitudinal study underway to answer that very question.” She returned to her adjustments, pulling her glasses off of her head and using her fingers to slick back her red hair.

Angela pushed her own hair back out of her face, softly laughing.

 _Armor,_ she reasoned. This seemed to be a rare moment for Moira: being caught unprepared. This might have been a privilege. One that she would love to exercise as often as possible.


	3. Rendezvous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An attempt.

Angela looked back fondly at the time of her life when she saw Japanese cuisine as a novelty. It was a treat, she reasoned, to experience the different marriages of flavors and consistencies. There was something charming about fumbling through chopsticks and the concept of tofu. But now? She buried her face into the collar of her sweater. The scent of another bento box washed over her as Dr. O’Deorain made her way through the doorway, returning from lunch. If Moira was nothing else, she was a creature of habit.

“There are other places to eat, you know,” Angela stated, bringing her hands up to pull the collar of her shirt down from her lips. She shifted in her seat behind her computer to catch a glimpse of the red-haired woman, mustering some kind of a smile. She was never one to have a problem with sharing, but the transition of a shared research lab was proving to be a trying one.

“Oh, really?” Moira was apparently amused, her eyebrow peaking in interest as she began to unbutton her fitted lab coat. She smiled and stepped further into the room towards their desk area, “You’ll have to take me to one of those places for dinner some time, then.”

Angela was hit with a wave of soy sauce and cigarettes as Moira moved past her. Her eyes narrowed as she watched the red-head’s long fingers work the buttons of her coat before stripping it from her lissome figure and dropping it onto the back of her chair. The woman stretched then carelessly threw herself into the seat, turning it around to face Angela with a smile as she continued, “That is of course if you ever step foot outside of this building. Which I doubt.”

Mercy could feel the color develop on her cheeks. The nerve of this woman was relentless. Of course she had left the lab. On occasion. To maybe shower. And sometimes get food. _Sometimes._ She tugged the sleeves of her sweater over her hands and turned back to her research screen. She was needed here, she assured herself, at all hours of the day. Overwatch never slept and neither could she. When she wasn’t researching ways to maintain the agents’ health, she was piecing them back together. It was a part of her job. Still, she bit her bottom lip. She was flustered by the other woman’s words. She felt stale.

“Well, I’d like to,” Angela assured herself, her voice muffled as she spoke her words into the collar of her sweater. She could just _hear_ Moira’s response. It would be something passive aggressive: _Of course you’d like to, but walking through the door is just **so** hard right?_ Maybe something to point out a flaw of hers: _Tell that to the dark circles under your eyes, Angela._ She tugged at the collar of her shirt, bringing it up over her lips for comfort to hide her frown. It was exhausting to work with a woman of Moira’s caliber. How could she always have something snide to say? Did she have a rolodex? Was it humanly possible to be so smug?

“Splendid.”

Angela picked up her head, turning to face the woman. Moira’s voice was…different.

“As you know, I’ll be attending a seminar with Dr. Anya Al-Shahrani tomorrow evening to discuss the growing ministries in Oasis. That places me at Friday, if that works for you?” For the first time, the timber in Moira’s voice had changed. It was softer. Quicker. She paused to bite her bottom lip, tucking a smile under her teeth. With a manicured finger, she tapped the side of her cheek and continued, “And something formal, please. I hate paying for the environment when it isn’t worth the money. At least for a date, anyway.”

_Date._

Angela could feel the color rise in her cheeks. Her heart had relocated itself in the back of her throat. She watched as Moira’s fingers slowly brushed against her lips with a satisfied grin. _She’d have to take her to one of those places some time._ Was this a trap? She opened her mouth, then closed it again – searching Moira’s features for some kind of tell.

None.

“No,” Mercy blurted. The word had left her lips without thought. Defense. There was no way Moira was serious about this date. And even if she was, there was no way Angela could bring herself to be the type to date a woman like Moira. Still, her heart protested. Her mind couldn’t help but wonder what kind of a woman Moira would be into. Brunettes, probably.

“Exactly,” Moira continued, her hand brushing aside the wavering commitment in Angela’s voice, “Taking the first stride towards intimately knowing a person isn’t a step that should be taken in jeans.”

“No, I mean…“ Angela began then paused, trying to push past the idea of intimacy and Dr. O’Deorain before speaking again. It was proving difficult to not imagine her slender features cast in candlelight or her eyes looked over a glass of red wine. When Angela had found her voice, it was nearly inaudible, “I can’t on Friday. I have…things.”

“I see,” Moira’s folded her arms across her chest, raising an eyebrow and inspecting the blonde, “Is this just a Friday thing or is this an _always_ thing.”

Angela bit her lip. She knew what Moira was asking. Would she see a woman like Moira? _Could_ she? Moira was infuriating: from her sly smile to her confident swagger. She had whiskey in her genetics and audacity in her actions. Her words haunted Angela through the day and her lips long into the night. She was intimidating and intelligent and insatiable and Mercy couldn’t stand her. There wasn’t a part of her that Angela didn’t want to explore, yet there wasn’t a part of her that she liked. She was the xenogenetic human that was as much of a mutation as the creatures she studied every day.

Still.

The blonde shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under the eyes of the other woman and how they made her feel. Moira seemed hopeful, regardless of how guarded her body language was. Could be she serious? Angela shook her head, trying to suppress a smile. The idea of being wanted – especially by a woman like Moira – was entirely foreign…and flattering, “Unsanctioned relationships are frowned upon among colleagues, Dr. O’Deorian.”

A grin flashed across Moira’s features, giving a laugh that brought an unexplained tug at the bottom of Angela’s stomach. “Ah. A cop out, I see,” she brought her fingers through her short red hair as she spoke, pausing to bite at the corner of her bottom lip. Angela could almost see her choosing her words, carefully running through lines before deciding how to proceed. “I don’t think I’ve misjudged your attraction to me or the way your eyes dilate by a substantial percentage when we speak, Dr. Ziegler. Perhaps, you don’t know me well enough to make an exception yet. I can respect that.”

“Nor do I like you,” Angela quipped, feeling the color begin to raise in the apples of her cheeks again.

“ _Yet.”_ Moira grinned again, this time standing to her full height and retrieving her jacket from the back of her chair. She appeared larger than life as she slipped it onto her frame, the confidence of her words taking Angela by surprise, “Regardless. I would be humbled if you’d still join me for dinner on Friday. As colleagues, obviously. Maybe give you a real, tangible reason to dislike me?” Her eyes fell on Angela once again as she finished, placing her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Sure.” Before Angela realized, her lips had answered of their own volition. She wondered if this was a natural side effect of frustration. Infatuation? She scrunched her face and closed her eyes to compensate, unwilling to risk a smile at the predatory woman before her.

“Wonderful.” The genuine nature in Moira’s voice made Angela look again at her. She was gathering papers and speaking through the same soft smile. A clipboard with a stack of files was placed against her hip as she took a step passed Mercy and continued, “Sounds like a…commitment, then.”

“A rendezvous,” Angela offered another abrupt word, watching as Moira made her way towards the door.

“Yes,” Moira looked over her shoulder as she spoke, her crimson eye still hinting at the same smile she had sported before. “That is a synonym. Good night, Angela.”

Mercy tucked her face into the collar of her sweater and sighed. Of course Moira knew about her feelings. _And of course she’d prey on them._

Science always revealed the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize it's taken me so long to post, for those who might be waiting! I hope you enjoy. Next chapter is all ready half way done.


End file.
